Debut Flash: 'No traffic noise, only silence' by Jennifer Hurley

I have a picture of my parent’s house, which I keep in a frame next to my bed.

I received a digital camera for my twelfth birthday and thought I would take a picture of the house for my Dad to keep in his study. The house was so grand then - big and white and granite. A blood red door with bonsai trees either side.

The next day, I went outside before anyone was awake. The light was nice; pinkish. Remembering my Dad’s long-winded explanation, I stepped into the road to make sure the whole house was in shot. It probably didn’t matter - it was early, the roads were quiet. I checked carefully in silence that everything was right before hitting the shutter. Drawing a deep breath, I looked at the image on the camera.

Errors jumped out at me like whack-a-moles. The walls weren’t square to the edges, I had only half of a plant in the bottom left hand corner. There was a slight beige smudge to the bottom. Surely not my finger!? I deleted the image, disgusted.

The light changed as I continued to click the shutter, each photograph a greater travesty than the last; the light no longer pink. I eventually captured the image which is now in a frame by my bed, not kept in my Dad’s study. I felt at the time that it would do.